And something about that hits me harder than expected.
I step back, giving her space as she gathers her things—laptop, phone, papers shoved into a folder with practiced efficiency. She moves quickly now, like she’s suddenly aware of how late it is and doesn’t want to acknowledge it out loud.
“I’ll drop you,” I say casually.
She freezes.
“No need,” she replies without turning around, her tone clipped. “I can manage.”
“It’s beyond eleven,” I counter, keeping my voice calm. “And not that I’m traditional or anything, but men can’t be trusted. Since you’re still here, I’d like to know you reach home safely.”
She turns around, eyes sharp and narrow. “You are a man, too.” she argues instantly. “How about you guys put a 7 PM curfew on yourselves so we can roam around freely?”
I blink.
“Valid point,” I hum, genuinely impressed. “I have a politician friend. I like this idea. I’ll pass it along. Maybe he can do something about it.”
Her mouth falls open slightly like she thinks I am joking but I am really not.
“I’ll ask Aditya if something like this can be implemented,” I continue seriously, nodding, considering the logistics. “Because clearly, whenever we have a problem, we eradicate the problem. Which in this case is men. Makes sense.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“They will laugh at you,” she exclaims.
I shrug. “People laughed at Einstein. Now he’s the most known scientist. Besides, they won’t dare laugh at me unless they want a significant part of the donations to disappear.” I add darkly.
She blinks rapidly. Once. Twice.
Then exhales sharply. “Fine,” she mutters. “You can drop me.”
She rolls her eyes, grabs her phone and heels, and walks past me without waiting, footsteps quick and irritated.
I watch her go, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself.
She’s cute. Dangerously so.
I close the door behind us, turning off lights as we move through the empty building, the quiet stretching between us comfortably now. She walks a little ahead, arms crossed, still clearly annoyed, but there’s something softer in her posture. Less defensive.
As we step into the elevator, I glance at her reflection in the mirrored wall—now heels on, hair messy, exhaustion evident, and yet somehow still standing tall.
She works like she has something to prove. Like stopping would mean losing momentum. Like rest is optional and time is an inconvenience.
And standing there beside her, I realize something else too.
I didn’t wait back just because the building was empty.
I waited because the thought of her being alone this late didn’t sit right with me.
And that…that’s new.
The elevator doors slide shut, and for the first time tonight, I let myself stop pretending that this is just concern. Because it isn’t. Not entirely.
And as we descend into the quiet city below, one thought settles firmly in my mind—She may not realize it yet, but I’m not letting her do this alone.
Not tonight at least.
CHAPTER 14
